


Tempest Within, Tempest Without

by stut_ter



Series: Tempest Within, Tempest Without [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:54:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stut_ter/pseuds/stut_ter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this story on Tumblr back at the end of October when Hurricane Sandy was whipping itself into a frenzy.  I had a day off due to the storm and started it.  It was my way of working through the breakup and my feelings about it.  Warning for angst.</p>
<p>Blaine flies to NYC to see Kurt because he won't respond to his messages.  Kurt is alone in Bushwick and they are stuck together in the apartment.  At the time I said, "What if Blaine snuck to New York right before the hurricane, knowing Kurt would have to keep him?"</p>
<p>I never beta'd it, wrote it in something like 5 days with a one-shot before and after.  Those will be included in this series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tempest Within, Tempest Without

“And you used the emergency credit card, right? Because that’s what it’s for, _emergencies_ , Kurt, and this is completely an emergency-”

Kurt sighed and tapped his fingertips against the arm of the chair as he cut his father off. “Dad, I know, I know. We talked about this three hours ago, remember? I went out before transportation cut off and got the flashlights, the batteries, and the water. And yes before you ask, everything that I can charge is charging and I got the extra phone battery even though the cell towers are probably going to go down sometime tomorrow, too. They haven’t evacuated Bushwick, dad, so it’s fine. Please, please stop _worrying_. I don’t want you to make yourself sick.”

“Yeah, okay, I know, pick on your old man,” is what Kurt hears back on his end, and he knows his dad is pacing the living room while he talks, and Carole’s probably watching him from the couch with that worrisome crease between her eyes. Kurt tries to stay patient, listening to his dad as he drones on, “-so sue me if I worry about my only son in a freak frankenstorm that’s meandering to his doorstep as we speak! I wish you had come home with Rachel-”

“That was planned for weeks, dad,” Kurt argues, catching himself before his voice slips much higher, “And she took a plane and you know we couldn’t afford it right now. She’s safe and I’m safe and stop worrying, okay?”

Silence on the other end as his dad wipes his forehead with his cap, Kurt’s sure.

“Yeah, okay bud. I- I love you, okay? Just…don’t go out of the house. Keep safe. And if you need ANYTHING, just call or send a hawk or something.”

“Pigeon?” Kurt asks, unable to keep the smile from his face. He knows that all of this is born from love.

“Lark, _whatever_ , just keep me updated and if you _do_ lose contact, you damn well better stay put until communication is open again and then call so I know you’re safe.”

“I love you dad,” is all Kurt says, thinking about open lines of communication and all that’s meant - or hasn't - over the past few weeks.

“I love you, too, Kurt. Be safe.”

With that the line clicks off and Kurt’s alone, sitting in the makeshift living room that he and Rachel have started to populate on the weekends. An armchair here, a lamp there. Slowly but surely making their warehouse-cum-loft a boho chic statement. 

He finds he’s rather in love with it. Too bad all of it has been marred with sadness as of late.

He sighs deeply and glances at the clock. It’s already 8:30 and he hasn't even thought about eating. Isabelle has already called him to tell him not to come in tomorrow since the whole city will be closed and so he has time. He slowly stands up, stretching the kinks out of his back and then heads to the “kitchen” to make himself some dinner - with leftovers so he won’t have to cook tomorrow.

***

An hour later he’s settling back into the same chair, seared chicken tossed with a little linguine alfredo on a plate in his lap when there’s a knock at his door.

Kurt nearly drops his plate.

It’s after nine o’clock on a Sunday night, all public transportation is down, of the three people he associates with most in the city, two are an hour away on Long Island - only one of which has actually _been_ to his house and never for him - and the other is in Ohio.

When he pulls himself together enough to put down his plate and cross the room there’s another knock already.

_Who-_

His thought is cut off as he pulls the door open and his face sets into stony acceptance.

“I-”

Kurt doesn’t let Blaine begin, doesn’t even let him _speak_ because _why_ , why is he here, in New York, with storm hitting and steady rain falling. He holds up his hand and Blaine just stops, water dripping from his disheveled hair, soaking backpack limp at his side.

“What are you _doing_ here? I-” Kurt begins just as his phone begins ringing from his pocket. He holds up his hand again and Blaine just waits, eyes wide and pleading as Kurt digs deep into his pocket and glances at the screen.

He lifts it up to his face and presses talk.

“Hi Dad.”

“Hey kiddo, I know I just talked to you and I know you’re fine but-”

Kurt rolls his eyes and settles his weight into his feet, waiting for the rest of what his dad has to say and glaring at Blaine on his doorstep.

“-I mean, I don’t want to worry you here, okay, but Blaine’s parents just called and they’re really upset. Apparently he left this morning to go to the library and he’s not answering his phone and his dad just checked his credit card and he charged a flight but-”

“He’s here.” Kurt says, his voice hollow and cold.

“What?” his dad barks, his voice rising, and Kurt knows he’s hit the counter top.

“Yeah, he literally just got here two seconds before you called. He’s soaking wet and I might be charged with murder before the night ends but he’s here.” Kurt’s eyes, which had been focused on Blaine’s feet, flick to Blaine’s face and he sees grim determination there that had been absent less than a minute ago. He realizes with a start that he’s letting a person - a cheating, hurting, supposed-to-be-loving-but-really-just-heartbreaking - person stand shivering on his doorstep. His veins flood with shame and he motions Blaine in.

He still refuses to touch him, though.

“Well, I mean,” his dad’s saying, “That’s something at least. His parents aren’t going to be too pleased, though, and he needs to call them right _now_ , Kurt. His mom’s never really talked to me but she was, ya know, a mess about it.”

“Yeah, dad. I’ll make sure he calls as soon as we get off the phone. He- he needs some dry clothes, so I’m gonna go and…” he trails off, tears suddenly threatening his speech. Blaine…Blaine’s going to have to borrow his _clothes_ and…

“You okay bud?” his dad asks, and he knows that his dad is having the same dawning understanding he is and he can’t take it. Can’t take Blaine seeing it, either. He pulls himself together and answers his dad before his voice can betray him.

“Yeah, dad, it’s fine. Don’t worry about us, okay? I’ll have him call.”

With that he vaguely hears his dad telling him that he loves him before he presses ‘end’ and turns his attention back to Blaine.

“You need to call your parents. They’re really scared and don’t know where you are.” Kurt hands out his phone, watching Blaine reach for it and then wincing when their fingers touch, drawing his own back as if bitten. “I mean, dad said something about it being really unlike you. Then again, nothing you do seems to be _like you_ lately.”

The last part drips from his tongue like icy daggers and he can see Blaine physically recoil.

“I’ll get you something to change into. Call your parents.”

Blaine just nods and stays where he is while Kurt crosses the open living area to the carved-out area that is his bedroom. He rifles through his drawers, looking for something comfortable for Blaine to wear and scowling at his clothes. He tries not to listen. Tries not to hear what Blaine’s saying but fails miserably because, he pointedly tells himself, he shouldn't _have_ to. This is _his apartment_ and that’s _his_ phone and, well, he’s feeling pretty petty.

He stands still, listening as Blaine’s voice reaches him from the entryway.

“Yes, Dad I’m aware that I’ve scared mother, and I-”

Silence.

“I’m sorry, but I just needed to-”

Again, nothing. Kurt barely moves, wanting to know what’s going on just as much as Blaine’s parents, apparently.

“Yes, I know. I understand that my irresponsible behavior is what-”

Kurt hangs his head, listening as Blaine sniffles and shuffles in his living room. It’s a mess of emotions, a snake pit in his stomach as he listens, hearing Blaine’s voice break as his dad berates him and he tries to fight in vain. He wants to be angry with Blaine for being here, for showing up, for hurting him, for _breaking_ them. But this…this is something else, too. Listening to Blaine be broken down by someone else.

“Father!”

It’s loud and sharp, and Kurt drops the heather grey Henley he’s holding when he hears it. Blaine _never_ sounds this way. He bends to pick up the Henley as Blaine’s voice rises and continues.

“I am well aware of your disappointment in me. I’ve been aware for a long time but that’s not what this is about. I couldn’t stay there any longer and when I get home, do what you need to. Ground me, take everything away, I don’t care, but I had to come and I had to try and I’m sorry for lying but I’m here and there’s no way home right now so just drop it- no, no, stop speaking _over_ me, dammit. What? I, yes, that’s what I said. No, I don’t-”

Kurt stands stock still, his hands clutching yoga pants and the retrieved Henley with wide eyes.

“I don’t _care_ what you do. Just- yes, please tell her I’m sorry. I _am_ sorry for worrying you both but I’m safe. What? No, the transportation shut down as I was landing. At least the pilot landed us. I rode with a nice older woman in a limo who took pity on me in the terminal. She brought me to midtown and then a _really_ nice cabby took one look at me while I was walking toward the bridge and let me get in his cab. I- yes, I tipped him well. I- No, I just got here. Yeah. No, I think he’s going to let me st- Yes, I know I don’t deserve it but- Yes, dad. Just a minute.”

Kurt shuffles to his dresser again even though it would never take _anyone_ this long to grab two pieces of clothing as Blaine tentatively pokes his head into his alcove.

“Excuse me, Kurt? I’m sorry to bother you,” Kurt feels his eyebrows raise straight into his hair, it’s so ridiculous that Blaine’s saying this when he’s _in Kurt’s house and dripping fucking wet_ , but Blaine pushes on. “But my dad would like to speak with you for a moment.”

Kurt looks at the phone Blaine’s handing out and shakes his head but Blaine just pushes it into his hand and leaves the room, forcing Kurt to raise it to his ear and speak. Anger shoots through his stomach and licks out over his skin at Blaine’s _presumption_ and his goddamn _nerve_.

“H-hello, Mr. Anderson?” Kurt curses the minute stutter, the aural evidence of his anger and uncertainty.

“Hello, yes, Kurt. I’m so sorry that my son has…has forced your hand like this. His mother and I are not happy with his actions and did not know that he was going to do this but I thank you, given the circumstances, for taking him in. We’re aware of the storm and that it’s not exactly the best time for something like this. I’m…just, thank you. For keeping him safe.”

Kurt swallows hard, his fingernails tightening into his palm. Blaine’s dad has always been an enigma to him, never really speaking to Kurt much - this might be the most Blaine’s dad has talked to him in the entire two years Blaine and he have known each other - and to hear him speaking just to apologize for Blaine, well…

“It’s fine, sir. I have the room, my dad made sure I was stocked up. We’ll be in contact as we can be.”

He hangs up then, not wanting Blaine to have to talk to his dad again, and heads to the living room with the clothes, his back straight and chin held high.

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

Kurt doesn’t give Blaine any leeway, just stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, the clothes for Blaine held tight and forgotten in one fist. Blaine stares at him like he’s been slapped, which, Kurt figures, he basically has since he _never_ swears. His mother had once said that so much more could be accomplished with a strong vocabulary and mind and so…

“Wow, New York is having an effect, I see,” Blaine replies, wincing at his own words and then rushing on. “I mean, no, wait. I’m sorry. I’m still riled up from talking to my dad and-”

“Yes,” Kurt bites back, shoulders drawn and voice like ice, “Your dad. Thank you ever so much for _thrusting_ your family problems onto my shoulders and then _leaving me alone with them_.” He’s shaking now, the anger, hurt, and hours of sadness whirling around and multiplying, agitating each other and tearing out of his pores like blood and sweat. “Who the _hell_ do you think you are, Blaine Anderson, coming here like this? Did you do this on purpose? To get caught here? To fucking _make_ me see you?”

Blaine’s face flushes and he looks away, his ears turning bright pink and Kurt _knows_ and he could punch something he’s so angry, his hands flying up and hitting the partition that’s barely holding his bedroom together, making it sway dangerously.

“Damn you, Blaine! I’ve been barely keeping it together here, barely making myself move through every fucking day, barely able to make it through a goddamn _hour_ and you show up like some lost fucking puppy that I have to take in from the storm? Why? Why would you do this, Blaine? I can’t, I don’t-” He breaks off, his body alternately hot and cold as his eyes fill with tears and _fuc_ k that is frustrating because he’s not sad, not even close, he’s so angry his whole soul is _vibrating_ with it, his skin holding him together like so much twine in a windstorm.

Blaine’s shaking too, but not from anger. Tears track down his cheeks and his hair’s still dripping, dripping dripping, making him look ever so much the part of the lost soul. Kurt could actually kick him it’s so unfair, so wrong that he’s done this, manipulated the situation so that Kurt would _have_ to stop, _have_ to listen.

No.

Not tonight. Not right now. Kurt doesn’t have to do a damned thing that stupid dumb, cheating _that’s not fair, there was so much more to that_ his mind whispers at him, BLAINE wants to make him do at this time, in this night. No.

He stalks back into his bedroom and retrieves his phone from where he’s left it on the bed, scrolling to Rachel’s cell and praying she picks up before moving back into the living room and tossing the clothes he is still gripping on the couch two feet from Blaine.

It rings twice before Rachel’s picking up.

“Oh thank _God_ , Kurt. Is everything alright there? I just got home from the reunion, my dads had us stay at Aunt Caroline’s an extra night since I wasn’t going to be able to fly anyway-”

“Rachel,” Kurt interrupts, not giving one care for any of Rachel’s many relatives at the moment, “Blaine is here.”

“I- I’m sorry, what?” comes her reply, and he can see her mouth hanging open from Bushwick. “I mean, did you-”

“Of course not, Rachel, god. You’ve been here for the past three weeks, right?” Kurt’s anger is misdirected, he knows, but _honestly_. She’s supposed to be his best friend…or is now that-

He puts his hands over his eyes, not wanting to see as Blaine watches him from his place by the couch.

“Well, I didn’t _think_ that you did but…Kurt, why is he there?” Rachel’s voice is soft now, concerned and he fervently wishes she were here right now, the perfect buffer for this awkward, horrible nightmare of a situation that he wasn’t looking for and doesn’t want to face. He glances at his forgotten meal and as if on cue his stomach rumbles.

“Because apparently in three weeks you can easily turn into a manipulative asshole,” Kurt replies, walking over to his food and making his way to the kitchen area to use their brand new microwave. He pushes the food into the machine and punches some numbers, watching it spin as his stomach growls in discomfort.

“Language, Kurt, one never needs to lower themselves even in anger,” Rachel replies, voice still soft but with a hint of her trademark superiority.

Kurt snorts and waits for the beep of the microwave to stop before replying, “I don’t recall that being the mantra you held when Finn left that morning. I think the phrase was ‘interminable douchebag’?”

“Yes, well,” Rachel sniffs, “At least there was some class in that one.”

Kurt huffs and takes a bite of his food before walking back into the living room where Blaine is _still_ standing stock still, waiting for Kurt to do…something.

“Well, he’s here and there’s nothing to be done. His parents know where he is and Dad knows he’s here. I’m giving him some clothes to sleep in but I was calling to see if he can sleep in your bed,” he glances at Blaine and then completes the sentence, making his intention clear. “Because he’s certainly not sleeping in mine.”

Blaine sets his face and grabs the clothes, moving to Rachel’s area to change, not waiting for the rest.

“Of course he can, Kurt. No worries. Just…I think you should talk to him, you kn-”

“Not tonight, Rachel, he doesn’t get that from me tonight. Not when he just…I-” Kurt almost loses it then, bringing his hand to his face and covering him mouth to breathe in and out, trying to control his emotions.

“I know, Kurt. I know. Just…get some rest and see what happens in the morning.” Rachel says, and then they’re saying goodbye.

Kurt takes and breath and crosses to Rachel’s ‘bedroom’, taking care to knock on the frame of the partition as not to see anything…awkward.

“Come in,” Blaine says, voice tiny, broken.

Kurt does and his heart breaks for the millionth time in the past three weeks. Blaine’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, Kurt’s yoga pants a little too long, the Henley just right across the span of his shoulders. He’s pulling his toothbrush from his soaking backpack and eyeing his wet clothes in disgust while trying in vain not to get the floor too wet.

Kurt sighs.

“There’re towels by the shower stall, but it’s a stand-up as you probably remember from…from last time,” Blaine seems to pull into himself on that, nodding silently as Kurt goes on. “You can shower or wash up if you want and Rachel has a clothesline -thing- going on over there as well. Put your clothes there, okay? I-” He stops, letting himself breathe, letting himself feel the weight of this moment, their situation. “I’m not talking to you about this tonight because, quite frankly, I’m exhausted just having you here. Just being like…like this. And I’m so-” he breaks off, eyes searching the ceiling, mouth not wanting to form the right words, “I’m so _angry_ at you, Blaine, at before and then this that I can’t, I just…we need to try to talk in the morning. When I can think straight.”

Blaine nods miserably and moves to stand, his eyes searching for and locking with Kurt’s.

“Th-” Blaine voice is a scratchy reed, and he clears it before trying again. “Thanks for…for letting me stay.”

Kurt laughs, broken and desperate.

“For- oh for Christ’s sakes, Blaine, you _know_ me. There was never any choice to not and you _know_ that and that’s part of the-”

Kurt stops again, his breaths coming short and quick, heart hammering in his chest. He can’t remember a time when he felt so totally, clearly, and completely out of control of his emotions. Not the night Blaine told him, not in the past few weeks, not when his dad’s life was hanging in the balance. Never. Because right now? Here? He can’t decide whether he wants to hit Blaine or cry with him; whether he wants to rant and kick things or kiss Blaine until the loneliness they both have shouldered is running, thick and cloying, from their veins.

“Just- there’s more food in the fridge. Eat what you want and get some sleep. Rachel said you can sleep here, just…give me twenty minutes so I can shower and get into my bed.”

Blaine nods again and looks like he might say something but Kurt turns away, not letting him get the chance.

It doesn’t matter how many times he hits his pillow, turns his body, or resituates his limbs, Kurt isn’t getting comfortable and he swears he can literally _hear_ Blaine thinking from Rachel’s bed.

God knows he can hear Blaine moving, and judging from _how_ much he’s moving, he’s just as awake as Kurt is himself.

Every movement he can hear makes Kurt’s already tense back tighten, his fingers curl and his teeth grind. He feels like his whole body might snap with the tension of having Blaine _here_ , yards away, but not here with him, because _dammit_ something happened and he lost the thread of _them_ and Blaine lost sight of everything and _why_ , dammit, that’s all he wants to know and-

“Blaine Anderson,” Kurt says loudly, “Could you kindly stop thinking so hard and go to sleep? I can hear you from here!”

Shuffling, movement, then-

“I- I’m sorry, Kurt. I’ll try to, I- okay?”

Kurt listens to Blaine floundering and sighs deeply. _This is so fucking stupid_ he thinks, hitting the blankets beside him with too much force. He sighs again and whips the covers off of his body, pulling himself upright. He hits the sheets again, balled fists doing nothing to the soft give of the cotton before swinging his legs over the side and pushing his way out into the common area and crossing it quickly, coming to a stop in front of the curtain covering Rachel’s ‘room’.

He knocks.

“Blaine?” he inquires, calm tone belying the tumult in his chest, the shaking of his fingertips.

“Come in,” Blaine croaks, and Kurt feels the tension in his chest multiply, the air thick between them as he pushes through the curtain and meets Blaine’s eyes, glowing softly in the dark. He can barely see him, just the idea of a form in the dark that he’s growing accustomed to, but his eyes shine just the same. It makes Kurt’s stomach turn and his heart ache and he would do anything - _anything_ just to crawl into Rachel’s bed and be held by Blaine now, feel his body close to Kurt’s and hurt and fall apart and lose it, finally lose it, over the unfairness of it all and _damn_ Blaine for taking away his boyfriend _and_ his best friend in one go.

Kurt doesn’t sit, he doesn’t even consider it because he knows that if he doesn’t the bed it’s over and he’s done for.

Instead he says the one thing he needs to know before he can do anything else.

“Tell me about it.”

“Kurt, listen,” Blaine begins, but _no, not this time_.

“No, you listen,” Kurt pleads, and he’s supposed to sound strong, supposed to sound like he’s in control here but he’s not, he’s barely alive right now with how much he just _hurts_ and it’s rolling over him, consuming him, and Blaine just needs to try to do this, to settle these things in his head. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. Thinking about what he did to you or what you did to him. Thinking about how he tasted in your mouth and if you thought of me. Thinking about why you wouldn’t tell me his name. I can’t-” his voice breaks and _dammit_ it’s not fair. “I can’t focus on the whys and hows of _us_ and where we went wrong because my stupid, dumb, trusting, _loving_ brain is focused on the part where you took everything physical and tangible I gave you - when you _knew_ what it meant to me - and did it with someone else. I- I can’t even begin to fucking work on the other things until I get these goddamn pictures out my head.”

Kurt’s realizes his breath is coming in little pants and his chin is wet where tears have dripped off the edges of his face in waves but he doesn’t care, can’t care if Blaine can just do this, open this wound again and clear out the infection, seal it with salve and try to make it heal.

Blaine looks at him and Kurt can see, his eyes adjusted and his heart open, laid out for Blaine, and he’s so, so scared but then Blaine speaks.

“Ask me whatever you want.” He sits stock still in the bed, face resolved, determined.

“What’s his name?” Kurt asks, the first question he wanted answered, the question he had been denied.

“Eli.”

Kurt wracks his brain for any Eli that they’ve ever met. Scandals, Warblers, Sectionals, hell, Nationals.

He comes up blank.

“Eli…” is what he says, hoping for more of a clue.

“Just Eli. I-” Blaine laughs but there’s no humor in it. “I don’t know his last name.”

“You don’t know his-” Kurt begins but he _can’t_ , he can’t with this conversation. His mind is spinning with the revelation that there was nothing there, no connection, no…nothing. “You don’t know his last _name_?” Kurt’s shaking again but he doesn’t try to hide it, his anger flowing freely.

“No,” Blaine answers softly, “I don’t and I don’t want to. It-”

“Are you going to say it doesn’t matter, Blaine? Because it matters a whole lot to me! Were you, I mean, did you…were you safe?”

Blaine sighs and runs his hands through his hair, tugging on it as he goes. No gel, no control, just his curls unkempt and untamed and Kurt just wants to touch them, smooth them down, and calm his nerves but he can’t because it’s not right, nothing’s right.

“Of course I was safe! I mean, it wasn’t, I didn’t…” Kurt watches as he struggles to compose himself, to put his thoughts in an order that would let Kurt understand. Kurt waits. He really, really wants to know.

“I had called you that day,” Blaine begins, not looking at Kurt but instead focusing on the pattern on Rachel’s comforter. “You were manning Isabelle’s phones and we had a phone date - the fifth phone date in a row that you had cut short. I-”

Kurt remembers the day, the conversation, Blaine saying he missed him, talking to him, kissing him, messing around with him…

“So because I couldn’t talk, _couldn’t mess around with you_ , you just…you just went and found someone who could?” Blaine’s’ words feel like knives stuck in his chest, through his lungs, and he can’t breathe, can’t make it through this, no matter how much he thought he needed it, he can’t-

“No, dammit, Kurt, no. It- it wasn’t like that I-”

“Then what was it like, huh, Blaine?”

“I’m trying, Kurt, I’m trying to tell you and I’m- I’m not going to make it through this if you can’t just…just let me _speak_ , I- no one ever just lets me _SPEAK_.” Blaine explodes, yelling and hitting his fists against the sheets. Kurt takes a step back, not afraid of Blaine, just in wonder. _This is what it looks like when someone has reached their tipping point_ , he thinks, and he understands, knows his boyfriend…no, his…his Blaine enough to know it was coming for a long time and something has tipped him over the edge.

And that something might’ve been him.

“Okay. I’ll just…listen. But, just…start from the beginning and end at the end and I’ll just listen, okay?” Kurt looks at the floor doggedly, his ears open and his emotions in check.

He hears Blaine move, come to the edge of the bed and sit.

“He saw me at the Lima Bean one day getting coffee and said hi. He wrote his Facebook URL on my cup and then he left. I wasn’t going to say hi, but then I thought, ‘why not?’, you know? More friends because Kurt, at McKinley, they’re really your friends. I- I transferred to be with you because I wanted to but in the end I realized that, once you were gone, there was nothing. Nothing. And it’s all so crazy because I shouldn’t depend on just you to make me happy, right? That’s not healthy, right? But you were gone and I told you to leave and every night when you couldn’t talk or didn’t hear me because of everything that was new I just…I felt that thing - that thing we talked about in Ms. Pillsbury’s office? I was left behind and it felt like you didn’t need me, and weren’t telling me or couldn’t and I just…the day that you hung up before I could even say I love you? That was the day I poked him and he was just…there. There and wanted to see me.”

Kurt shifts his weight and feels his knees buckle, the reality of hearing it from Blaine’s side so much, too much, so he lowers himself slowly and sits, listening to the wind pick up and howl outside as Sandy makes her presence more and more known.

“And I know, I know now that it wasn’t true. He didn’t see me, he saw sex and lust and getting off. And I know that you always _did_ see me, the way you looked at me, held me the moment I came in that night I knew i was wrong. But it was too late and-”

“Don’t, Blaine, not now, just…finish this, first.” Kurt says, looking up and into Blaine’s eyes where they’re broken and hollow. “Keep going. I need…I need to know all of it.”

Blaine sighs but holds Kurt’s gaze.

“When I…got there, he pulled me into his house and through the living room to his bedroom. He had his…he was kissing me and touching me, making me feel something that had been gone, pulling at my clothes and drowning me with it.”

Kurt doesn’t look away, he wants to, wants to block what Blaine’s saying with his fingers in his ears like so long ago when his dad tried to talk to him about sex, but he can’t, they need to push through this if there’s anything that’s going to be saved.

“And I let him, Kurt. I did. He kissed me and I kissed him back and he…” Blaine pulls his eyes away from Kurt’s gaze but Kurt moves then, crawling forward to the edge of the bed and pulling Blaine’s chin so that his face is turned back to Kurt.

“Look at me, Blaine. We need to do this. Together.” Kurt can’t keep the quiver from his voice, can’t stop the tears from sliding down his cheeks but the timbre is strong.

Blaine’s eyes meet his and he swallows, giving Kurt everything.

“He put a condom on me and then went down on me, and I on him because even though it wasn’t right - nothing felt right and I couldn’t stop shaking and I wanted to go but I couldn’t because who does that? Just takes and then freaks out and so I did and- and it was safe, Kurt, it was safe, all of it, and then I put my clothes back on and he got me water but I just…I had to go because I…it was all so much worse. So much worse because I had done this, this thing that I couldn’t take back and-”

Kurt’s shaking and trying not to picture it, Blaine spread out on some faceless boy’s bed with his eyes clenched shut and his fists tearing at the sheets while someone else…

“Was it…was he bet-” Kurt starts but Blaine’s shaking his head furiously, desperately.

“No…no no no. I- moments in I felt dirty and sick and _wrong_ and everything was twisted, turning the wrong way and I couldn’t, I didn’t-”

“What color was his hair?” Kurt asks, needing to put this together, to make it work in his head so he can kill it where it lies.

“Brown.”

“His eyes?”

“I-” Kurt looks up at Blaine again but already knows what he’s going to say, and somehow it breaks his heart even more. “I don’t know.”

Kurt wraps his arms around himself and sits back on his haunches, barely knowing what he’s doing other than comforting himself by rocking and listening to Blaine’s labored breathing.

“So that’s…that’s it?” Kurt asks, daring to look up into Blaine’s anguished face.

“That’s? God, yes, that’s it. I- oh my god, Kurt, if there were more I would tell you. I swear to god I would.” Blaine’s holding his gaze, his eyes impossibly huge, wet with a million tears.

“Okay then.”

Kurt stands and turns from Blaine, pushing his way through the partition curtain and then turning back to look once more.

“Get some sleep Blaine.”

With that he turns and returns to his bed, hoping desperately for sleep.

***

When Kurt wakes he knows it’s late. Later than normal, and maybe later then he’s slept in in years. The light from outside is no help and he can hear the wind whipping around the building, the rain pummeling the roof as Sandy takes over for awhile.

He glances at his clock and realizes that the power is already out, which doesn’t surprise him as their building is wont to lose power at random on a _good_ day, let alone in the middle of a hurricane.

He’s really thankful for his father and his insistence on charging and batteries right now, though. He lazily reaches for his phone, shocked to find that it’s 1:30 in the afternoon.

He stretches, feeling the kinks from laying still so long unravel and lay smooth, and then he sits up, the need to use the bathroom the most pressing thing in his mind.

Then he remembers Blaine.

Kurt scrambles out of bed and rushes to the living room only to be greeted with silence. He moves to Rachel’s partition and sneaks a glance between the curtains and his breath catches in his chest. Blaine is there, of course, but he’s on his stomach stretched askance across the bed, facing away from Kurt. His legs are bent at the knees, feet swaying slightly. The yoga pants have slithered down his calves, exposing the skin there, and his chest and upper body is propped up on a pillow. He’s reading, a notebook open beside him, pencil wedged between his teeth.

Kurt’s seen him this way so many times, working on some project or paper in one of their bedrooms, but never in _his home_ , or in his clothes, his hair all crazy and looking so vulnerable Kurt wants to cry.

He backs his head out of the alcove, determined not to be seen, and heads to the bathroom to clear his head and decide where to go from here.

***

Fifteen minutes later, scrubbed, minty, and clean, he knocks at the partition again.

He hears Blaine shuffle around, a book closing.

“Come in.”

He does and Blaine’s now sitting up, the book and notebook still open next to him, but he’s hugging his legs and watching Kurt anxiously.

Kurt sits down next to the bed, right on the floor, and leans his chin against the bedspread.

“How’s school?”

Blaine takes a deep breath and covers his face with his hands. Kurt thinks for a moment that he was wrong, that he said the wrong thing or that he should’ve been angrier, but he can’t bring himself to be angry anymore. Can’t make himself want to hurt more when Blaine is sitting in front of him and obviously ready to try and, well, he can’t go anywhere so-

“It’s not the same.”

Kurt nods and waits, knowing there’s more.

“I mean, obviously you’re not there, but neither is anyone with…with _sanity_ , I guess. When I ran for president it was insane because it involved Brittany and Sam - who’s actually been pretty cool and we’re becoming friends, I think.” Blaine pauses to think and Kurt sees a little smile on his face that’s never been there when talking about Sam before and that makes him smile too, because Sam is a great guy, if not the brightest bulb on the tree.

“It’s just- there are new people, you know?” Kurt nods emphatically because he does know, Finn’s been talking to him about the new kids and their weaknesses and strengths while he’s trying to find his feet as the director of Grease, crazy Sue stories and all.

“And I like Unique and Jake and everyone, but there’s just so much _drama_ and when you were there it was at least tempered, you know?”

He’s looking at Kurt now, realizing he’s spoken so much, Kurt sees, because suddenly he’s quiet again.

“Finn said Marley has some pipes, though? Kurt replies, pushing Blaine further.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t have any _soul_ like Mercedes or depth like Santana or star intensity that I feel like I have to fight with like Rachel or just, outright _beauty_ like you-” Blaine breaks off again, looking up quickly at Kurt.

“It’s okay, Blaine,” Kurt says softly, his heart clenching at the need to trust this man, the man in front of him who’s still such a boy in so many ways Kurt is not. “It’s not like I just turned off my feelings, either, you know? You don’t love someone for almost two years and then just dump your feelings in a cardboard box. I don’t know who you are if you can.”

Blaine sniffles and shakes himself, one hand coming up to wipe absently at the tears running from his eyes.

“What do we do now?” he asks, voice small but hopeful.

“We talk.” Kurt replies simply.

They do. They talk about Blaine’s horrible audition for Grease, how he sang ‘Hopelessly Devoted to You’ but all he could think of was Kurt and so his voice broke and he left crying. They talk about Kurt’s job and how it has taken over his life, how he comes home exhausted and feels like he has to put in the hours so that he has a foothold somewhere, a beginning to a maybe career that he had never really considered but is finding that he knows more about than even music.

Blaine listens, and Kurt talks. Kurt talks and Blaine listens. For the first time in months both boys feel listened to, heard, and understood.

In the end it’s almost 5:30 and both of their stomachs are growling, clamoring for food.

Blaine looks down at Kurt, still on the floor, and motions to the kitchen.

“Should we eat something?”

Kurt stands up from the floor and laughs quietly.

“I have pop tarts and Life cereal?”

Blaine smiles carefully, a little tentatively and with his whole face.

“You - you had me at pop tarts.”

Kurt ducks his head and tries not to smile; tries not to show Blaine how easy it has been for him to want to be with Blaine, to know him again, to want to forgive him.

Instead he turns and goes to the kitchen to retrieve two packets of pop tarts and returns quickly, tossing a silver-wrapped pack at Blaine’s feet.

“What kind?” Blaine asks, tearing into them.

“Strawberry,” Kurt replies through his first mouthful.

“Mmm, perfect.” Blaine says and then bites, letting out an undignified moan.

Kurt starts at the noise, his blood momentarily burning at the sound before running cold, the images he’s been carefully pushing away surfacing again.

Blaine sees it and stops chewing, his smile falling, hand reaching out.

“No!” Kurt says, too loud and too frail, before repeating, “No, I mean, it’s okay, I just…it’s a lot. Right now. Maybe…I mean, you have to read, right?”

Blaine nods once, controlling his chewing and swallowing hard.

“So, I’m just…I’m just going to go back to my room and look at some things with my little lamp. Is that one working for you still?” Kurt nods to the battery operated camp lamp they had been using in the room all afternoon. It’s obviously still good, its light still bright, but he needs to cut through this new tension, find a way to make it back to where they were starting to pick up the pieces.

“It’s fine, Kurt. Go do what you need to do and…I mean, find me later if you…if you want.”

Kurt laughs, an honest laugh and long.

“Blaine, it’s not _that_ big of a loft.”

Blaine watches him for a moment, the smallest trace of a smile on his lips.

“I know, but…find me, okay?”

Kurt stops laughing. “Or…or you could find me,” he says, and then goes without another word.

***

At nine, Kurt has looked through all the paperwork Isabelle has sent him home with, written notes for all the things he wants to get accomplished as soon as he gets back to the office, and reread October’s Vogue for the third time.

He’s starting to wonder if Blaine _will_ come to him when there’s a knock at his partition.

“Oh my god, we need to stop this knocking business,” he says, and then Blaine’s there, newly showered yet in the same clothes again.

“Did you even pack any other clothes?” Kurt asks, remembering how small the backpack was and wondering how Blaine got his book and notebook through the downpour alive.

“Um, yeah, but they were protecting my homework so…” Blaine trails off, looking at the end of Kurt’s bed like he wants to sit there but not really knowing if he should. Kurt humors him.

“Want to sit?” he asks, gesturing to the end of his bed.

Blaine slumps with relief and sits, the bed bowing where his knees hit and then he sprawls out on his stomach again, his head near Kurt’s knees.

Kurt tries not to think about that. Instead he says what he didn’t say this afternoon.

“I’m sorry, Blaine.”

Blaine looks up at him, smile melting away, a look of shame crossing his features.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Kurt. You didn’t-”

“I did.” Kurt says firmly, reaching out to touch Blaine’s shoulder, and it’s the first time he’s touched him, first time he’s tried to touch him, really, in so long. They both feel it, the spark in his touch, the warmth flowing through them and it’s like water, cleansing, swallowing them up and spitting them out new.

Blaine holds his gaze so Kurt continues. “I mean, it wasn’t like what you…did.” Blaine winces but Kurt squeezes his shoulder, grounding them both. “It wasn’t like that but I- I didn’t see. I didn’t see what I was doing to you, to us.”

“No matter what I said, Kurt, it wasn’t your fault, though. I mean, I _told_ you to go, and-”

“Yes,” Kurt cuts him off, holds him fast, “But you also told me your fears and I forgot them. I forgot them even though I knew, at least at some point, that they were very, very real to you. I forgot because…”

Kurt chokes back a sob, because this is the part that hurt so very badly, the part that made Blaine’s cheating ache and break him open because-

“…because I’m so _sure_ of _us_ , Blaine. I’ve _always_ been sure of us, even when there wasn’t an ‘us’ to be sure of. I was sure of our friendship and then I was sure of our love, even when you weren’t. Even when you couldn’t be and I…I took it for granted that you would just be there. And you were, but honey you don’t think you’re worth it and-”

Blaine tries to object, tries to stop Kurt from speaking by putting his hand to Kurt’s lips but Kurt just brushes them away.

“It’s my turn to speak, Blaine, and your turn to listen.”

Blaine nods again, busying himself with drawing aimless doodles on Kurt’s knee.

“I forgot that you need to know, all the time. I forgot that there was work to be done and I wasn’t doing it. And out here it’s hard, and it’s real, and it’s more than I thought it would ever be, but without you-” His voice breaks and he looks to the ceiling, listens to the rain tearing at the roof and the wind that’s still swirling around the houses and between the eaves. He realizes that he’s so _glad_ Blaine did this stupid, foolish, _manipulative_ thing because, yes, yes- “Without you it’s not worth it at all. And I don’t care if that’s too romantic a notion, and I don’t care if it makes me stupid to want storybook love, but it’s just not the same without having you to share it with, to dream about having here, and I-”

Blaine’s shushing him in earnest now, sitting up and trying to hug him, but Kurt just backs away.

“No, just…not yet, okay? I just…”

Blaine gives him a look of understanding but his face is tight, soaked with longing.

“And I think you need to talk to…to someone, and god don’t let it be Miss Pillsbury, but someone, about this. About how you…how you worry about being enough. About never being enough. Because…you’re enough for me, Blaine. You were and you still are, mistakes and all. So-”

Blaine breaks down then and Kurt gathers him up, pulling him into his lap and rubbing his fingers between his shoulder blades as he cries himself out.

“Just start talking to me, please? You never said…I mean, you didn’t tell me I was losing you. You didn’t tell me your fears were coming true and…the hindsight is so damned 20/20 it’s like 3-D and I’ve been kicking myself over and over and it’s too hard, Blaine. Too hard without you and I just…”

Blaine cries and mutters “Okay, okay” into Kurt’s shirt over and over and Kurt just cries, too, wanting to start new, letting the tears wash them clean.

***

Neither boy is sure how much time has passed when Blaine stops; when he pulls back to look into Kurt’s eyes and, for the first time in so long, sees hope. Neither boy is ready to talk, either, but the air is thick with…something around them and both are feeling the weight of it when Blaine speaks.

“Well,” he says, eyes catching ever-so-briefly on Kurt’s lips, “I- I’m pretty exhausted, which is stupid, really, considering I’ve done _nothing_ today.”

Kurt doesn’t miss his eyes lingering but he snaps to attention when Blaine insults himself. Like he does all the time, without realizing it, apparently.

“Hey, don’t call my friend stupid. He made some serious emotional realizations today.” Kurt sounds indignant, but his lips are smiling and Blaine could cry just looking at him. There’s so much to fix, still, so much to build and shore back up but they’ll get there, he realizes now. they’ll get there.

“Your friend, huh?” He teases, happy to have been let back in.

“My _best_ friend.” Kurt replies, this time letting his own eyes linger.

Blaine stares at him, wishing desperately for a moment before clasping Kurt’s hand and squeezing.

“Goodnight, Kurt.”

“Goodnight Blaine.”

***

An hour later Kurt still can’t sleep. He showered, moisturized, and is in his most comfortable pajama pants. He can’t seem to get comfortable, no matter how hard he tries and it’s so _frustrating_ because he feels better right now than he has in weeks.

Without the thrum of electricity, the lights from outside, or the movement of other people he is acutely aware of the night settled around them. It feels like he and Blaine are the only people in this world so…so why are they apart?

He spends the better part of twenty minutes willing Blaine to come to _him_ so that he doesn’t have to take this step; take the chance that maybe Blaine doesn’t want Kurt to come share his space yet. That maybe everything’s too raw and new and unearthed. He draws his fingertips up the skin on his torso absently, not really recognizing that he had gone without a shirt for the first time since summer when they would collapse into giggles in Blaine’s bed while his parents were away, happy to have little between them. So much of who he is is who he is with Blaine, and that used to scare him, used to make him wonder if it was healthy or normal to find yourself as an adult with another person.

He’ll leave it up to the sociologists to study. In the here and now, he needs to get out of his bed.

He creeps out, well aware that his every movement is discernible in the deep silence of the loft. He doesn’t want to light his way and so he goes by touch, the design of the loft being his very own as a guide. When he gets to Rachel’s partition, though, he stops. His breath comes in rapid gulps because this is a step, this is leaving the friend place and just stepping off the ledge to trust Blaine again, to tell him that _no, thank you, being your friend is fantastic, really, but I need all of you and need everyone to know it, thanks so much_. He has a moment to think that his lungs might just give out if he stands here much longer when he hears Blaine whisper..

“Kurt? Are you there?”

Kurt giggles nervously and then slaps a hand over his mouth, trying desperately to stem the flood of nerves in his chest. “yes, well, we said we wouldn’t knock, right, so…” He trails off and then hears Blaine laugh as well.

“Honestly, just come in.”

He pushes his way through the partition and fumbles his way to the bed before plopping down onto it without much finesse.

“Well, that was more awkward than it should’ve been,” he laments, and Blaine stifles a laugh before Kurt’s jumping out of his skin, fingertips on his stomach where he’d least expected them.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Blaine says, and the fingertips are gone, leaving burning fingerprints in their wake. “That was supposed to be your arm…but, wait, you’re not wearing a shirt?”

Kurt takes stock of himself for the first time since his shower and swears he’s flowing fuchsia in the dark in his mortification.

“I…oh, god, I didn’t even realize it and that’s not why I-” he begins.

Blaine reaches out to touch him again, this time actually getting his arm, and shushes him. “Shh, Kurt, I know. I…I spent the last hour arguing with myself about going to your bedroom.”

Kurt really laughs then, because _honestly_ , they are both idiots.

“Okay, listen. So did I. We need to do a better job at this. Just…speak and then work through this shit together because dammit, we’re stressing out too much.”

Blaine makes a _tsk tsk_ sound in his throat. “Kurt Hummel,” he growls, and if Kurt’s cock hardens it’s _really_ not his fault, “language.”

“Now you sound like Rachel,” Kurt teases, sidestepping the tension building between them.

“You bite your tongue,” Blaine replies and then a pause, his fingertips slipping down Kurt’s arm. “Or-”

Kurt feels it, the ache between them and he’s sure of one thing.

“We’re…Blaine, we’re not having sex tonight,” he says, if a bit wistfully.

“I don’t want to have sex,” Blaine replies, his voice deep with meaning, “Not yet. Not until I deserve you again…but I-”

Kurt’s drowning in it, the need to kiss Blaine, have Blaine’s mouth on his own.

“Yes, please.” he says, the ache a hailstorm on his skin, in his heart.

It seems forever before Blaine shuffles to his knees and crowds into Kurt’s space, before his fingertips are drawing themselves up Kurt’s arms again, tickling and teasing their way to his shoulders where they stop and gently swirl and push, massaging lightly and making Kurt groan with the sweetness of it. He’s ripped open and sewn shut again in the minutes it takes, the time Blaine spends loving his skin with his hands before he even reaches Kurt’s neck. Kurt lets himself slip, lets himself moan out into the stunning silence of the loft because they’re _Blaine’s_ hands worshiping him again, and it’s _them_ starting over, forgiving and moving on together because they can’t _not_. There’s too much between them to throw away on misunderstanding and self-hating mistakes, so Blaine’s thumbs frame his jawbone, his long fingers pull Kurt close, closer until their mouths are butterfly beats apart.

“I-I love you, Kurt.”

“Blaine-”

Kurt’s mouth is sealed shut, Blaine mouth moving against his and taking. Taking months of sadness away, hours of silence, and minutes of agonizing. Taking doubts and fears and insecurities and dissolving them with _yes_ and love and _let’s try again_. Blaine fingers slip up his neck and into his hair, pulling him closer, and he realizes they’re skin-on-skin as Blaine is shirtless too and Kurt’s mouth opens slightly, just enough for an invitation that Blaine takes. Blaine’s tongue slips out gently, seeking, and swipes across Kurt’s lower lip and that’s it. There’s no more waiting for Kurt. Every piece of him is aflame, burning brightly for Blaine and his mouth and his hands and his heart. He’s using his jaw, opening Blaine’s mouth wide with his own and putting every single thought, every single feeling he’s had since Blaine left and placing it there between them to be turned to ash and forgotten in the flames.

Kurt stops for a moment, letting them both catch their breath; stop the soft moans and gasps for a second and he slips his fingers up Blaine’s spine, making him shiver, and then into his hair, pulling his head back and searching Blaine’s eyes with his own.

“Don’t you dare leave me again,” Kurt begins, pulling slightly on Blaine’s curls, making him listen.

“I won’t,” Blaine gasps, hands tightening around Kurt’s biceps and clinging.

“I don’t care how much I love you, Blaine Anderson, I can’t do that. I can’t take that again. I can’t- I-” Kurt tries but he’s falling, falling so hard the relief is palpable. “I can’t be your friend, I can’t take seeing you with someone else, and I can’t be worrying that you’re going to leave me, so you have to be _sure_ that you can do this; that you can talk to me and be weak with me. I-”

“Kurt, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry…” Blaine pulls him close and lets Kurt cry into his shoulder, his fingertips grasping every inch of Kurt’s skin he can reach and then Kurt’s kissing at Blaine’s shoulders, the back of his neck, the inside of his elbow. He’s marking him up, biting at the skin sharply and then soothing it with his tongue, letting the world know that Blaine is his and that he _needs_ him, wants him, even if he has a new life, a new job, and is barely an adult in this gigantic scary world.

“I’ll try harder, listen more,” Kurt breathes when he’s sated, Blaine’s upper body covered in marks of Kurt. “I’ll remind you that I’m sure of you.”

Blaine laughs and it rumbles in his chest. “I’m glad one of us is.”

Kurt turns his body where it’s now laying on Blaine’s and looks up to meet his eyes.

“Will you go see someone?” He winces as he says it; he doesn’t want Blaine thinking he doesn’t love him the way he is. “I mean,” he rushes on, “I want you to know what I know - see what I see when I look at you…and I don’t think…I don’t think you do.”

Blaine’s eyes tighten and he holds Kurt closer still as he responds, “They said no.”

Kurt’s eyes widen and he shakes his head slowly. “But why-”

“‘Anderson men don’t need to go to have someone listen to them on a couch for an hour. It’s a breakup, Blaine. Get over it. You made a mistake now live with it. Yes, your mother told me.’” Blaine’s hold hardens as his muscles tense. When he speaks again, though, his voice is soft, back to Blaine and not Mr. Anderson. “It was the same way after Sadie Hawkins. ‘It’s just a few bruises and cuts, Blaine. Nothing that didn’t happen to me as a kid. You changed schools, that’s enough’.”

Kurt sits up and looks at Blaine, searching him. “Why didn’t you say something? Why?”

Blaine shrugs, clearly uncomfortable again.

“No, Blaine.” Kurt’s voice is hard and strong. “You can’t shut me out and not let me know anymore…if we’re going to do this then I need to hear it.”

Blaine’s eyes close, a way to hide for just a moment, and then opens them again, clear and bright for Kurt to see.

“It was just whining, right? Just…complaining when there’s nothing to be done. You just have to shoulder on, don’t you? Everyone else seems to be able to, so…” Blaine’s voice trails away.

“I don’t care about ‘everyone else’, Blaine, I care about you and no, Blaine. ‘everyone else’ has issues that they hide and keep secret, or they only talk about with the people closest to them. I can be that, if…if you let me, Blaine. It’s okay not to be ‘Blaine Anderson, perfect child’ all the time. Let me….” Kurt’s voice is almost pleading, wishing so hard that Blaine had talked to him sooner no matter how much he suspected. “Let me love you all the way, please?”

Blaine pulls him closer, kissing him roughly, urgently this time, pulling away just to whisper _yes, please, yes_ before he’s kissing Kurt again in the stillness, the only sounds their movements.

Hours later, tangled up and sleeping, all kissed out and wrapped together, they both dream dreams of new beginnings and hard truths; of weathering storms and growing stronger while the storm blows itself inland outside. They sleep in peace.


End file.
